National Crisis
by StrangeLittleSwirl
Summary: Ben Gates found the treasure. Now he has to find something very different...


_Monday ,__7:00__ AM  
__Washington __D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__First Daughter's Floor._

Jillian Brancos had been working at the White House for five years, and during that time, she'd quickly, and efficiently, made her way up the chain of command. It had been five years of constant vigilance against the common germ, against grime, against anything that could cause the pristine, virgin whiteness of her uniform or the White House to be marred. Just a week ago, she had been given her promotion.  
Mr. Carter, an older man who always reminded her of Batman's butler, had beamed as he handed her her new list of rules.  
"You were hand-picked, Miss Brancos," he said, gazing at her fondly over his silver rimmed spectacles.  
After a week of listening to new instructions, of reading 'The Book' (_much_ larger than her old one), and purchasing clothing more suitable for an _upper_ member of the cleaning staff for the President, she made her way through the staff entrance, parked in her new space, and continued on to procure the cart to be taken to the President's daughter's room.  
The music could be heard down the hallway as she exited the elevator. She winced, but upon seeing the set faces of the guards in the hall, she quickly replaced it with a smile. Smiles made people more comfortable. Smiles made things easier to bear.  
She'd heard it before, whatever it was. Something her niece must have been playing at some point.  
Jillian passed the large portrait of the First Family, her large glasses glinting off the reflection, behind which sat their perfect, beaming smiles, not a hair out of place on any of their blonde heads, or their whiter-than-white teeth.  
Perfection, she had found, was something that the government tried very hard to create, and it took the hundreds of them who worked their, like ants (very _clean_ ants), to create it.  
She knocked on the door, but the music was too loud to hear a response.  
_This_ wasn't something they covered. Jillian looked to the guard on the right for assistance.  
He opened the door.  
She was suddenly in a trashed combination of antiques and teenage girl items, and great, classic portraits and pictures of the hottest bands. No matter.  
"I'll just leave your breakfast here, Miss Kirsten. Do you have any laundry to be taken care of?"  
Teenagers.  
"Miss Kirsten?" She waited for a minute. No answer. "Miss?"  
She took a breath and opened the door. "Miss Kirsten, it's time to wake-"  
The bed was torn apart, the clothing was in more of a disarray than the other room, and there were books strewn all over the place.  
"Up." The bathroom door was open. She wasn't on the balcony.  
Jillian could not force a smile as she stumbled her way out of the room screaming.

_Monday, __7:11 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__Meeting Room F.._

The president looked wearily at his security chiefs, all of whom gave him no response, verbally or facially. He licked his lips and found the comforting warmth of his wife's hand with his own.  
"Are you trying to tell me," he said calmly, finding his words, "that my daughter, my seventeen-year-old daughter, somehow made it past all of you highly trained men?"  
There was silence, and then one security agent-a brave one-answered with a small grunt of a 'yes'.  
His wife sobbed, and he closed his eyes. "I read the note. She's going to find that God-damned treasure. She has her own money set aside from her mother's will." He was about to get up from the table when one of his Public Relation's officers-Mr. Flint- cleared his throat.  
"Sir, we are ready to start leaking information to the press about Kirsten's flu. We just have to keep public appearances to a minimum for the First Family…Security," he let out the sigh of a man who had lied and seen too much in his line of occupation, "can start to search the city and start making the appropriate calls."  
"Code Pink, correct, Mr. Flint?"  
The man nodded.  
Pink. The President could taste the irony in his voice. Pink was his daughter's favorite color.

_Monday, __11:34 PM  
__Washington, __D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__Meeting Room F._

"1D had not been found," he said. He was the sort of man who'd blend into the surrounds, had it not been for the large, white projection screen behind him.  
Clean and white.  
Jillian, being the only staff member to have first-hand involvement, was unceremoniously ushered into debriefing room with the others. They had adopted a 'keep-her-around-since-she-can't-go-home' attitude, it seemed. She'd rather be doing _something_…  
"We've not been able to find any more leads as to where she is as we speak, but we are contacting trained officials to assist."  
"Sir, I think you should read this."  
He pressed a button and an inner-office memo appeared on the screen.  
_"We are proud to announce that the authenticity of the artifacts found at the Trinity Church in New York City is in it's final stages, and if, in their spare time, the Public Relations office can-"  
_"What is this supposed to mean?"  
"It means that the First Daughter is out there on a wild goose-chase for this treasure, and due to her public statement about believing Mr. Gate's theory, people are going to sooner or later find out that she's out there."  
"Get that man on the phone."  
The room, preparing to descend upon the room below, stopped and turned to look the President and the harried guard who was with him.  
"If he's the reason Kirsten is out there, he's going to help up find her."

_Tuesday, __1:03 AM  
__Baltimore, __Maryland  
__Mount __Clare_

Phones, at one in the morning, are not supposed to ring. They are most definitely _not _supposed to ring when there are at least three more of them on the same floor as he was on.  
He'd never had that problem at 544 8A.  
"H'llo?"  
"Mr. Gates?"  
"Speaking."  
"This is a matter of utmost importance. It's about the excavation."  
"Is there-what happened?"  
"The Crystal Diner in Rockville. At Three." The line went dead.  
He stared down at the comforter, debating over actually making the effort of getting out of bed and driving the fifty minutes to get to Rockville. With a groan he kicked back the covers and made his way to the kitchen.  
He'd need coffee.

_1:20 AM  
__Washington, __D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__Meeting Room C._

Jillian had procured some knitting and yarn, and a corner in which she wouldn't be bothered. If she was to be held hostage, _well…  
_She'd knit.  
It was a meeting room. It was a common place room in which all manners of things could be done. It was quiet. Something that not many of the rooms were. There weren't any phones, or else she'd be able to call her sister and tell her to feed her cats.  
Oh dear.  
Jillian hummed to herself while she finished darning one of the security guard's socks. He had been awfully appreciative about the whole thing. Why, if only her sister's children where so nice, then perhaps they'd actually-  
"Alright everybody, we're settling in here for now," came the harried voice of a woman slightly older than Jillian, whose voice did not match her face. Externally she looked like Jacqueline Kennedy had returned in the form of a plump woman, right down to the sensible pumps, the matching plaid suit, and the pearls that humbly peeked out over the neckline.  
"Bill, start calling those contacts at the Continental Airways…only the _Lord_ knows where this child has-oh my, miss, I didn't mean to disturb you!"  
Jillian looked up at the momentary pause and gave the woman an incredulous look. "Oh, me? It's fine. I'm just…knitting."  
She nodded and went back to ordering people about. One frightened looking woman gave her a folder.  
"We've simply _got_ to find her, and since all of Security can't do it…well, we're going to have to."  
Jillian was soon surrounded by the noise that had chased her out of the rooms inhabited by Security. Somehow though, even with the din, she soon found herself asleep.

_1:26 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__Meeting Room C._

"Still nothing."  
Scarlet Bennington, in all her Public-Relation glory, was fading quickly. The phone nearest her rang and she picked it up.  
"Hello?"  
With a simple wave of her hand, the room was silenced. "Yes? You want what?" She sighed. "Alright. Very well, sir. Yes, sir."  
The others in the room looked at her expectantly, all except for the knitting woman, who'd fallen asleep. She'd put her blazer on her earlier. They were depending on Scarletright then. "Alright. Now, first, I need someone to hand me over their phone."  
Jason, a very sweet, balding man lifted his and placed it in front of her. She nodded politely and then had a short conversation, after which she whispered something to Jason.  
"Off with all of you," she said, after a moment. "Thank you very much for your assistance. I am sure we have it under control. Coffee, anyone?"  
And that was Scarlet Bennington, the mysterious, the fantastic, and altogether infamous.

_1:26 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__Woodley__Park  
__Apartment__ 3B_

Her hand grabbed for the phone, which, of course was not where she usually put it, but on her stomach.  
"Hello, this is Dr. Quinlan." Only patients called at this hour of night-or rather morning. A calm, familiar voice was what she tried to offer.  
"Elizabeth? It's Jason Shapiro."  
She sat up, the remote and the bag of chips falling to the floor with a clatter. The couple in the bedroom next door stirred.  
"Yes. Jason. Hello. Is everything okay?"  
She hadn't seen Kirsten in months. Had she relapsed?  
"Do you need me to come in? I mean, it'll only take me a bit-"  
"Yes. We most definitely do. Elizabeth, take the train and we'll have a car pick you up at the station, alright?"  
Strange. Usually she just drove.  
"Just pack some clothing."  
Oh God, what happened? "Jason, should I just go to the hospital?"  
"No."  
"But if she's there why don't I just-"  
"She's not. Just get the hell over here with a packed bag."  
Elizabeth nearly tripped over the dog as she made her way to her room. Liam emerged, sleepily from his room to watch as she scrambled for clothing by the light of the fake candle in her window. Douglas was still asleep. "Work? Another angst-ridden, rich, pampered politician's daughter?"  
She grabbed the closest pair of shoes and her oversized purse. She wouldn't answer because she didn't know.  
"Feed Pitt soon, okay? And kiss your boyfriend goodbye for me."

_1:53 AM  
__Rockville__Maryland  
__Rockville__ Diner_

"It's a nice ride, isn't it?"  
Ben looked up from his coffee. The man was bald, and he was dressed in a suit that was somber and caused him to be just another face in the small restaurant. He slipped into the booth with self-possession Ben had only seen in a few people.  
Like Sadusky.  
"Yes, nice. Did someone find something at the site? What's this about?"  
The man's large, black hand shot past him and propped up the greasy menu. "Mr. Gates, you're assistance is needed at the White House."  
"Where?"  
Benjamin Franklin Gates was normally a quiet man, but upon hearing something as surreal as…_well…  
_He leaned forward. "You cannot be serious. Did Riley set this up? Because," he said with a laugh, "this is good."  
The look the man gave him made him regret that statement. Ben cleared his throat. "What can I do?"  
"Go back to your house and pack your bags."

_2:04 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__Floor 4_

Jillian walked out of the office, clutching her purse to her. Mr. Carter had just given her the week off to do as she pleased. Surely her nerves were rather tried.  
She needed to get to a phone. Her sister was probably wondering where she was.  
And her cats, too.

_2:20 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__J. Shiparo's Office_

She was finding it very hard to keep up with Jason's fast clip. Their usual pleasantries were missing and she was finding herself escorted further and further into the building, down countless stairwells and hallways that all looked the same. Elizabeth had always just gone to the girl's room in the past. They were now in one of the few quiet hallways.  
"Jason, I'm wearing sling-backs that are too small. Slow down. What the hell is going on? This place is crazier than Christmas time today."  
He turned and started to say something, but a passing maid on her way through caused him to shut his mouth and pull her by the arm down another staircase, through another doorway and down another hallway. They were belowground now, she knew. The walls were cement gray-white and not papered with the off-white stripes of upstairs.  
A turn to the left and now they were in another hallway, but Jason opened the door to a small room and ushered her in.  
"It's Kirsten," he said, as if it explained everything. Elizabeth waited. "She's gone."  
"She's what? Jason, this is _serious_. Especially her…"  
He offered her a chair and fell into one himself. For as long as she had known him she had never seen him this worn out. Jason had been the closest of friends with her father. She twisted at her ring, a nervous habit she'd had for far too long.  
"Did she leave a note? Have you tried her cell phone? Jason, how long has she been gone?"  
"Since seven in the morning. Tuesday."  
Kirsten had been one of her first patients after graduating. She was fourteen when she'd met Elizabeth the first time, angry at everyone and upset mostly with her father for starting to campaign and for getting remarried. Kirsten had barely spoken to anyone.  
With plenty of assistance from her step-mother, they'd finally broken through and brought forth quite the young lady. Kirsten had just participated in a cotillion and a Polaroid of it still sat in Elizabeth's desk at home.  
"What can I do?"  
"You can sit tight. And change your shoes."

_3:13 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__J. Shiparo's Office_

"Arms to the sides, sir."  
Ben did as he was told, putting his duffel on the floor. After a thorough search, a young security guard showed him in through a large parking lot and into an elevator. There was a quick descent.  
"You will be meeting with the head of security to go over the finer details."  
What details?  
He opened the door for Ben, and then he was walking briskly back the way he came from. An older man sat behind a desk, but stood when he entered. His badge read 'Shapiro'.  
"Mr. Gates, this is Dr. Quinlan. Dr. Quinlan, Mr. Gates. I'm Jason Shapiro."  
She was a bit younger than him and quite a deal shorter. She clearly had been called out of bed like him; her clothing was mismatched, and her dark hair was slipping out of its knot on the back of her head.  
"You've been called upon because Kirsten Bradshaw is missing. She read your thesis, Mr. Gates, and it had taken all of our insistence to keep from leaving. Somehow, though…" he shook his head. "The point is, she's out there, and we _need_ to find her."  
We found this in her room. The last time she had heard of your progress, you were guessing that it was somewhere in Artic Circle."  
"The Charlotte," he said quietly. "But I don't think she'll find anything, really."  
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"  
"Well," Ben looked at both of their faces, and neither had seemed to comprehend what he said; they weren't as familiar with history as he was. This could be good and bad.  
"The," he cleared his throat, "well, rather-the Charlotte _was_ there…but Ian Howe-blew it up."  
Jason seemed to be chewing at the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Well, she clearly will have found nothing there, then. Was there anything left she might find?"  
He nodded. "The remains were pretty large…and the area seemed safe afterward. But I haven't been there in a few months."  
"You will be now. Mr. Gates, Doctor, I will arrange for a flight there as quickly as possible. For now, though, the President would like to speak with you."

_3:12 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW  
__Diplomatic Reception Room_

Dotty Bradshaw surveyed her step-daughter's room, searching, hoping for _something_ to show her where her daughter had gone, to tell her why she had gone.  
Nothing.  
Her husband walked in from the balcony and held her close, kissing the top of her head. "We'll find her. We have all of security looking for her, sweetheart."  
Her eyes fell on the pink sweater she'd just bought with Kirsten only a few days earlier on their most recent shopping trip. It was a bi-monthly treat they both looked forward to. Little things like that had always pleased Kirsten.  
"Dave, she seemed so happy yesterday, even though she said she was sick…why would she…" she trailed off as her throat tightened and she couldn't finish. He held her tighter.  
"I don't know, darling. What I do know is that Dr. Quinlan and Mr. Gates are waiting for us, and that we need to go talk with them.  
Ten minutes later, with reapplied make-up, the only remnants of her tears was her dampened spirit as she and her husband walked into the sitting room where the two were waiting.  
"Mrs. Bradshaw," started the psychiatrist, but she stopped when Dotty grasped her hand.  
"I truly wish we were meeting again under more…pleasant conditions," she gave her a small smile, and then extended her hand to Mr. Gates. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gates."  
He gave her a curt nod as he shook her hand. "I will do everything in my power, m'am to find your daughter."  
Dotty gave him a look that she hoped would express her gratitude. "Thank you very much, Mr. Gates."  
Her husband shook the man's hand but said nothing. Dotty knew this was by far much more worse for him…this was his only child, the only thing left to hold onto from his past marriage. He was slowly becoming more like the widower she had first met.  
"Just bring my baby back, Mr. Gates. Just bring her back."

_3: 40 AM  
__Washington__D.C.  
__Washington __Dulles __International __Airport  
__Runway 6_

Ben let his bag fall next to him with a small _thunk_, but then pushed it aside as the doctor sat next to him. His eyes were feeling heavier by the moment…he'd just put his head back for a moment…  
He never remembered taking off.


End file.
